


Black Angel Unbending

by floatingkhoshekfloats



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Gun Violence, Pirate-typical violence, uhhhhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:08:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7535797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floatingkhoshekfloats/pseuds/floatingkhoshekfloats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which the team are pirates. Bonus AU in which all the ladies are there. Because screw you, CBS.<br/>Also almost everyone is the nationality of their name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Black Angel Unbending

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters are not necessarily linked, sequential, or chronological, though they aren't necessarily not.

A gunshot shattered the quiet night.

The woman crouched behind a brick building–her blonde hair pulled into a horse’s tail–looked at her companion, a dark-skinned man with a shaved head. They both wore all black–cotton shirts, leather vests, sturdy boots–and carried cutlasses, dirks, and guns to spare. Nothing about them said ‘respectable citizens,’ but their attire and manner did say ‘pirate’ very well. The woman held a flintlock pistol prepped and ready to fire. A warm breeze smelling of salt and water billowed over them. The woman ground her toe into the dirt, getting better purchase, waiting.

An owl hooted somewhere above them and she stepped around the corner of the building, the man behind her with his own pistol raised. They moved smoothly and silently into a courtyard, and found their quarry already dead.

A man with a thin face lay on his back, blood dripping from the hole in his head. Above him stood a young woman in a servant’s dress. She had dark skin and shiny, black hair, a pistol clutched in both hands, still aimed at the body. When she heard the two pirates enter the courtyard, she aimed the gun at them, breathing heavily.

The blonde lady held up her hands, letting her flintlock dangle from one finger. “It’s okay,  _ cherie _ ,” she said in a heavy French accent. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

“He attacked me,” the servant said, her English precise and only lightly flavored by her native accent. “I swear he did. He was a murderer. He was going to kill me.”

“ _ Oui _ , I know,” the blonde said, slowly putting her pistol in its holster, keeping her eyes on the servant.

Her partner did not lower his weapon for a moment, but flicked a glance toward the rooftops where a shadowed figure crouched with a musket pointed at the servant.

“He was a  _ très _ bad man,” the woman continued. “Killed many people, hmm? We know this. He is why we are here. To stop him.  _ Bien? _ So lower the pistol and no one else is going to be hurt.”

“You won’t kill me?” the servant asked.

“No such thing. We’re going to talk to you,  _ cherie _ . Just put down the pistol.”

The young woman hesitated, then lowered her gun, finally dropping it.

“ _ Très bien _ ,” the blonde said with a smile. “Monsieur Morgan, you can put yours away, too.”

The dark-skinned man, Morgan, obeyed, holstering his weapon, though he kept his hand on it. The blonde woman stepped closer to the young servant.

“My name is Guenièvre Jareau, but my friends call me JJ.”

“Jordán,” the servant replied. “Jordán Todd. My father was English.”

“So was mine, but we don’t hold it against him,” JJ said with a wink, then her face turned grave. “Listen now, Jordán, you’re going to be in some trouble if someone finds this man, but we can help you, if you let us. We have a ship. You can be on it and gone, just like that.”

“But…you’re pirates. Aren’t you?” Jordán said.

“ _ Oui _ , but we’re also the ones who can get you away from here.”

“And we’re not so bad, for pirates,” Morgan said, coming up behind JJ. “We find people like this man and stop them from hurting others. You could be a part of that. You’re clearly a good shot.”

“I don’t want to kill people,” Jordán said.

JJ shook her head. “ _ Non, non _ . Nor do we. Not if we do not have to and never innocent people.”

“And on a pirate ship, there are no servants, no division of gender, race,” Morgan added. “We all work together and are paid according to how we work. We’re family.”

Jordán looked between them both. “You are not her servant?” she asked him.

“No. I’m her brother.”

JJ smirked and nudged his arm.

“Well, something close to that,” he amended with a smile.

“So how do you say?” JJ asked, holding out her hand. “Will you join us?”

Jordán bit her lip, looking down at the body. Then she lifted her chin and shook both their hands. “Yes.”

***

“They’re returned!”

A round woman with hair bleached blonde lowered the spyglass, running toward the captain’s quarters at the bow of the ship.

“Capitán Hotch!” she cried, pushing open his door. “ _ Capitán _ , they are coming back now.  _ Gracias a Dios! _ ”

At the desk in the center of the cabin sat a broad-shouldered man, a middle-aged woman in a simple dress-and-pant combo stood at his shoulder, both of them looking over a map. At the opening of the door, the man at the desk raised his head. He had a short beard and deep-set, serious eyes, but at the woman’s enthusiasm, he smiled. “Thank you, Mistress Gunner,” he said. “Let me know when they’re aboard.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, hurrying from the room.

“And Garcia,” he called. She stopped. “Open the rum.”

Garcia saluted him. “This is why we like you!”

Then she was gone.

“Sounds like a success,” the other woman said. She leaned one hip against the desk.

“It does,” Hotch said.

“You look wary.”

“I never celebrate until everyone’s home.”

The woman smiled, pushing away from the desk and gesturing at the ship around them. “The  _ Black Angel Unbending _ . A mouthful.“

“It’s why we call her  _ Bau _ .”

“But somehow fitting. She really is beautiful. You’ve taken good care of her.”

“I’ve tried,” Hotch said.

“And you take good care of her crew.”

He inclined his head. “That’s sometimes harder.”

“Chasing down monsters, I imagine.”

“Missus Blake–”

She lifted a hand. “Alex,” she corrected. “Please. We’re friends, aren’t we, Captain? And I owe you.”

“Friends don’t owe one another. I’m happy to help. We will find your husband.”

Alex nodded, a weariness settling into her features. “I know. And until we do, we’ll save the other lost and missing souls.”

“And maybe rob one or two ships,” Hotch said. “We  _ are _ pirates.”

She chuckled. “Well, you are. I am just a scholar.”

“I’ve offered you a permanent position. When we find Mister Blake, he can stay–”

“I know,” she said. “I don’t know if I’m quite ready to step all the way into your world though.”

Hotch ran a hand over his hair, then stood, picked up his hat – a simple tricorn – and set it on his head. “The offer stands. If you need help deciphering this,” he tapped the map on his desk, “I’m sure our Master Reid would be willing to help. He’s taken a shine to you.”

“That’s because I speak Latin,” Alex said with a twitch of her lips.

“And you understand him. Geniuses must stick together after all.”

Then he touched his hat, and strode out onto the deck. He ascended the stairs to the quarterdeck, breathing in the scent of oil and wood and sea air. A young man barely twenty with long, stringy hair and intense focus on his face stood at the helm, not sailing, for the ship was at anchor, but staring up at the stars.

“You’re not reading,” Hotch remarked.

“Ran out of books,” the young man replied, gesturing toward the stack at his feet. “I don’t suppose–”

“I told them not to forget you,” Hotch said. “JJ will bring something back if everything went well.”

“Do you think it didn’t?”

“I think it went fine,” Hotch said.

“Pardon, Captain, but you don’t. Your arms are crossed, your thumbs are hidden, and you looked away, not to mention you have an extra crease in your forehead that you only get when you’re particularly concerned. Did Garcia see something amiss?”

Hotch cracked a smile. “You learn fast, Master Reid.”

“I’m a genius, sir.”

“Indeed you are.” Hotch exhaled and leaned on the railing. “No, though. Garcia saw nothing wrong. I just have a feeling something is…different.”

“In a bad way?”

He shook his head, uncertainly. “The wind’s changing, Reid.”

“Metaphorically, you mean. It’s been constant from the northeast for the past half hour.”

Hotch just looked at the young man who cleared his throat.

“Right,” Reid said. “It’ll be alright though, I think.”

“We’ll see.”

Some minutes later and the longboat pulled up beside the clipper. The onboard crew gathered to heave it up the boat. JJ, Morgan, Jordán, and a dark-haired man with a musket clambered onto the deck. The crew stepped aside for Hotch.

“You’ve gained a number,” he said.

“This is Jordán Todd,” JJ said. “She is responsible for helping us stop the Rat Killer.”

“She is a good shot and steady hand,” the dark-haired man said, his voice bearing a light Italian accent. “She’ll be a good addition to the crew.”

Hotch nodded in acceptance of his quartermaster’s opinion. “And the Rat Killer?”

“Dead,” Morgan answered.

Hotch regarded the news grimly, neither celebrating the man’s death nor mourning it, just accepting it as necessary. Finally he raised his voice, “Another city is made safer. I think that calls for a drink. Set sail, then drink up!”

The crew cheered and dispersed across the ship, hurrying to set her moving again. Finally the ship was once again pushing through the ocean water, sails unfurled against the wind. The crew scattered below deck for rum. JJ paused to pass Hotch a crate of books – “Tell Spence to take his time on these ones.” –  then she and Morgan toted Jordán downstairs with them, eagerly introducing her to the other crew members. Hotch remained on deck, his quartermaster beside him. A few moments later and a woman with black hair climbed down from the rigging.

“Your opinions, Signor Rossi, Miss Prentiss?” Hotch requested.

“Todd isn’t duplicitous that I observed,” the Italian man answered.

“Her reactions on board are in line with that,” the woman, Prentiss, agreed. “She was scared, but open, more overwhelmed I think. It’s a little early to tell, but I think she’ll fit in.” She elbowed Rossi. “And what does that make it now, Signor Rossi? Four to seven in favor of the women?”

“Bah,” Rossi said.

“I told you the next recruit would be a girl. Pay up, Italian.”

Rossi sighed dramatically, but reached into his purse and withdrew his bet, the coins clinking into Prentiss’ palm. “Never bet against an English woman,” he told Hotch. “Especially not a spying one. The odds are all stacked in her favor.”

Prentiss grinned. “You love me,” she said, then turned around, heading below deck. “I’ll keep you posted, Hotch.”

Rossi shook his head. “Well. Coming down, Captain? Share a drink?”

Hotch shook his head. “No, I’ll share the watch with Reid. See that Missus Blake is offered one though.”

Rossi bowed. “I would never forget the lovely Missus Blake.”

“Careful,” Hotch teased. “That’s the sort of thing that got you in this mess in the first place. How many wives was it?”

Rossi narrowed his eyes, then pointed a finger at Hotch. “You be careful, Aaron. One day a beautiful woman will show up and you won’t know what to do with yourself either.”

“One already did,” Hotch replied solemnly.

Rossi sighed, clapping Hotch on the shoulder. “I know how your heart pitter-pats for them, and I would tell you to forget them, but I know you better than that, I think. Still, perhaps it would be better to move on.”

“I can’t do that, Davide.”

Rossi let his hand fall. “ _ Si _ , I know. I have to try, though.”

“Have a good night, Davide.”

Rossi’s mouth shifted into a line, then he shrugged and headed below decks, detouring to abscond Missus Blake from the captain’s quarters to where the rum was. Already laughter and shouting sounded up from beneath, drunken singing mingling with it. Soon, someone would break out the mandolin that Prentiss had stolen as a joke, but that Rossi actually knew how to play. Then it would be semi-terrible singing and mostly awful dancing and well-enjoyed merrymaking ‘til they all passed out.

Hotch joined Reid on the quarterdeck again.

“I can take your place if you want to celebrate,” Hotch said.

“I don’t much like rum,” Reid said. “I never really had a strong taste for alcohol.”

“Then I think I’ll keep you company, if I may.”

“Of course,” Reid said. “Who’s the new person?”

“A woman named Jordán Todd.”

“The changing wind, do you think?”

Hotch considered that. “A part of it. But only a part. Something more is coming.”

After a few moments, Reid asked, “Well, then, Captain, where to next?”

Hotch looked up at the stars, then stared out at the black waves carrying them away from the island.

“Wherever we’re needed.”


	2. Another Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a mission goes sideways, Captain Hotch is stranded and injured at a port with the authorities on the look for a particular pirate. However, help from an unexpected source makes finds him struggling between love far away and a possibility far closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted on the Imagining Criminal Minds blog, as was the first chapter.
> 
> 'Ashley' was historically a male name. 'Hallie' is the historical equivalent of 'Haley.'
> 
> Bisessuale is Italian for bisexual.

*author note: Ashley was historically a male name.  _ Bisessuale _ is Italian for bisexual.

Smoke clogged the air, acrid and sharp, leaving the taste of gunpowder behind. A gunshot cracked, the second in as many minutes. And the building was on fire. One after another the small team of crew members, five in total, staggered out of the building, smeared in soot, coughing, some holding wounds. They didn’t regroup, just dispersed in two and three as the military swarmed the building.

Reid, bearing a slashed arm and a limp, looked back. “Where’s the captain?”

Prentiss tugged him along. “He’ll be fine. Keep moving!”

Inside the building, Hotch lay under a broken table, bleeding heavily from a gunshot wound to his chest. Fire crackled nearby, the smoke starting to reach his level, stinging his nose, burning his throat. He could hear voices he didn’t recognize coming closer.

_ Get out, Aaron. _

He grabbed the table with one hand and hauled himself to his feet. The soldiers would arrest him if they caught him, kill him, if the bullet didn’t do it first. His crew needed him. His family…

Hotch moved past the body of the killer on the floor to where he remembered the door to be. Had his crew made it out? He didn’t know. He thought so.

“The fire’s too strong; retreat!” someone shouted.

Hotch couldn’t agree more. He found the back door and stumbled into an alley. Blood pulsed against his hand, squeezing past his fingers and gushing down his leather vest. He’d been a fool. It should have been clear, but he’d made a mistake.

His vision flickered, blurring, blackening, then clearing again and he’d somehow traversed an entire street. Then it was gone and he was falling, picking himself up, tottering onward, always bleeding.

_ Don’t give up, my love _ .

A voice in his head, but it kept him going, a memory maybe, or perhaps her spirit stretching across the ocean to help him now.

He didn’t know where he was anymore, how many streets he had gone, how far away the fire was, the soldiers. His legs gave out in an alley and he collapsed against a door with a thump. His cheek rested against the rough wood, the grains and splinters digging into ash-smeared skin. The door opened and he fell inside, someone gasping above him.

From somewhere close, voices called to one another, matched to marching feet. “Search this way. Find them!”

Hotch stared blearily upward at the woman leaning over him. His wife. Somehow it was Hallie, come to him. He was home. She knelt beside him, hoisting him into her arms, and his eyes shuddered close.

***

_ Hallie turned her husband’s face toward her, running her thumb along the jawline. “You missed a spot.” _

_ He smiled. “I don’t think I did,” he said, kissing her thumb. _

_ “Now, Mister Hotchner,” she said, playfully batting him away with her hand towel. “You need to cease your charming ways or I’m going to wonder about you when you’re away.” _

_ “Do you mean to tell me you don’t already?” he asked. “And here I thought I was the sole subject of your mind.” _

_ “You’re not the only man in my life,” she replied. _

_ He placed his hands on his hips. “Oh, no?” _

_ A blond-haired toddler ran up to him then, hugging his knees. “Daddy, I don’t want to wear this shirt,” the boy declared. _

_ Hallie gestured to the boy. “And here he is.” _

_ The parents both smiled as Aaron knelt down next to his son. “And why not, Jackie?” _

_ “It itches,” the boy said. _

_ “Well, sometimes we have to do uncomfortable things to get to the good things, don’t you think?” _

_ The boy tugged on his shirt and shrugged. “I guess.” _

_ Aaron ruffled his hair. “There you go then. Be good for your mother. Love you, Jack.” _

_ “Love you, Daddy.” _

_ Aaron hugged his son, then stood and kissed his wife. “And I love you considerably.” She smiled against his lips. “I’ll be home in time for dinner.” _

_ Her smile faded. “This time,” she said. “What happens when you have to ship out again? Jack isn’t a baby anymore; he needs you here.” _

_ “Hallie, we’ll get by. We always do.” _

_ “Do you promise?” _

_ He held her tightly. “I promise.” _

***

Hotch opened his eyes and coughed. Pain spasmed through his chest and he groaned.

“Careful,” a soft voice said. “You have a sizable hole in your chest.”

She sounded English, and warm like a sunbeam. A moment later, a woman stepped into his view, an amused smile on her face. For a moment, Hotch felt a crushing disappointment, but he didn’t know why. He didn’t know this woman; he had no reason to be disappointed to see her. He needed to be concerned about her motives.

Hotch shifted his elbow under him, but the woman held out a hand, briefly pushing his shoulder back down.

“No, really, you shouldn’t be doing that. I was not joking about the hole,” she said, sitting in the chair beside him.

He touched his chest, finding his vest and shirt removed and a bandage over the gunshot. The room was dim, a candle burning somewhere out of sight. As far as he could tell, he was on a cot in a closet.

“I presume you’re what the fuss is about,” the woman continued. “Unless you’re an unrelated event, which is possible, but highly coincidental, don’t you think?”

“Who are you?” he asked.

She put a finger to her lips. “Probably best not to say. Especially if you’re some kind of criminal.”

“I’m not–”

“Beth.”

Hotch tilted his head, then smiled despite himself. “Beth,” he repeated. It was an unusual name.

“Elizabeth. Clemmons. But I prefer Beth. Lizzie is too sprite-like, Bettie is too old, and Liza was my lunatic aunt.”

“Well then, Beth, I think I should thank you. You seem to have saved my life.”

Her eyes glimmered. “Oh, I did. Well, at the moment. But I can’t be blamed if you expire in the meantime. My skills only go so far; it’s not really my area of expertise. You’re going to want a real physician.”

“I have one,” he said. “On my ship.”

“Your  _ ship _ ,” Beth repeated, both impressed and entertained. “That black ship with red sails, yes? You’re a pirate.”

“The black ship, yes,” he said.

She ducked her head in false embarrassment. “I’m not supposed to ask if you’re a pirate.”

His forehead furrowed. “I’m a captain,” he said, neither confirming nor denying any piratical leanings.

“Yes, I saw you unloading cargo when you docked. You’re the hands-on kind of captain, aren’t you?”

“Do you spy on every ship that comes into port?”

“Just the ones with strong-jawed captains,” she joked. “I’m a painter. I like to go out to the port and paint ships  _ en plein air _ .”

“I see,” Hotch said.

Beth smiled sunnily at him. “You should rest. I’ll see about finding your physician on your ship so you don’t die on me. Because that would be an utter shame.”

She stood then, moving the chair out of the way.

“I’m going to close the door now, just in case we have any nosy visitors come by looking for a particular vagabond.”

“What made you think I was a pirate?” he asked before she shut the closet door.

Beth shrugged. “I saw the coat. What else could you be?”

Then she closed the door. Hotch lay in the darkness, one hand on his chest, and couldn’t help but smile, just a bit.

***

Rossi paced the deck of the  _ BAU _ , searching for anything amiss. It was aimless vigilance though, for his mind was out in the Jamaican port city with the rest of crew searching for their captain except for the rigger, Leah Seaver and a deckhand. Unfortunately, as quartermaster and acting captain, he had to stay with the ship. He completed a circuit of the decks, circling toward the gangplank as a woman with loose brown hair stepped aboard.

She moved confidently, though with curiosity, her head tipped back to gaze at the furled red sails. Rossi frowned, then strode toward her.

“Are you lost,  _ signora? _ ” he asked.

She spun toward him with a pleasant smile. “No, I don’t think so. This is the  _ Black Angel Unbending _ , isn’t it? Black ship, red sails. Hard to mistake it for anything else in this port.”

Rossi tipped his chin up, suspicion mounting. “It’s rude to board a ship without its captain’s permission.”

“Oh, but I have it!” she said. “Captain Hotchner. He said I could come. Are you Mister Rossi?”

“You have seen the captain?”

“Are you Quatermaster Rossi?”

Rossi settled back on his heels, regarding her through narrowed eyes, then nodded. “ _ Si. _ ”

“Captain Hotchner is in my house.”

“Is he–”

“He’s safe,” the woman said quickly. “He’s hiding. Also, he’s not moving a great lot. He needs a doctor.”

Rossi cursed, then caught himself. “My apologies,  _ signora, _ ” he said.

She waved his apology aside. “He said he had a doctor onboard.”

“Yes, but the surgeon is out now, looking for the captain.” Rossi looked away, thinking.

“Well, you could at least help me move him back here, couldn’t you?” the woman suggested.

Rossi hesitated. “It would not be…wise to move him inconspicuously,” he said.

“I know where we can get a wagon,” she said.

“What is your name,  _ signora _ ?”

She held out her hand. “Beth Clemmons.”

He shook it. “A pleasure. We’ll need more than us I think. Let me just…put the cabin boy in charge,” he said, stepping toward belowdecks. “Anderson! Ashley!”

A fresh-faced man popped his head up. “Sir?”

A second ‘sir’ sounded from the rigging.

“I’ve found the captain. I’m going to get him. Seaver with me. Anderson, you are in charge. So help you if anything is wrong when we return.”

Anderson saluted, then as soon as Rossi turned back to Beth, snorted. A woman in pants with short blonde hair climbed down from the rigging and joined them. Rossi gestured to the gangplank.

“Lead on, Signora Clemmons.”

***

_ Aaron entered his home, forehead creased, eyebrows drawn together, a frown on his face. Whatever the commodore said, Lieutenant Foyet gave him an ill feeling that he could not ascribe a reason to. Though he’d seen nothing regarding Foyet and the dead dog, and had no proof, he had the sickening feeling that Foyet had not found the dog dead as he’d claimed, but had killed it. _

_ “Nothing good will come of that man,” Aaron muttered. _

_ “Not you, I hope,” Hallie said, entering the room with a sunny smile. _

_ Aaron pushed his concerns of Foyet aside and answered her smile with his own. “No, no. A fellow officer.” _

_ Hallie kissed him. “Hmm, well I expect you’re keeping out of trouble.” _

_ “I always do.” _

_ She placed her hands on her hips. “Do you now? I seem to recall a young man who quit a prominent blacksmithing trade to hound my father for months for a place in his company. All because that man saw one young woman walk into my father’s office.” _

_ Aaron smiled, ducking his head. “Yes, well, that young man had more sense than we both thought because here we are at happily ever after.” He lifted his head to meet her eyes. _

_ Hallie took his hands and kissed them, then his lips. “Here we are, indeed.” _

_ “Where’s Jack?” _

_ “In the garden helping me with the tomatoes.” _

_ “Tomatoes, huh? I sense stew for supper.” _

_ “Oh, are you cooking?” she asked as they moseyed out into the garden, arms looped around each others’ waists. _

_ “Well, I suppose I could,” he said with a laugh. _

_ Hallie glanced at him, then chuckled. “We’ll all cook. All three of us together.” _

***

Beth and Seaver tugged the cart along, gabbing cheerfully to each other as they went, Seaver dressed in one of Beth’s skirts with her hair in a hat. The cart was covered with a tarpaulin, hiding Rossi and the unconscious Captain Hotchner, whom Rossi was keeping stable.

“By the way,” Beth said as they checked a street for soldiers then continued. “Why does he call you Ashley? Mister Rossi. Are you actually a man?”

Seaver shook her head, smiling. “I used to be in the Navy and so went by Ashley. Signor Rossi was a prisoner in our hold when I met him so he was just as surprised as the rest of my crew to learn I was a woman.” She shot a glance back at the cart. “Though much relieved if I recall,” she said a bit louder.

“Only because I was not prepared to discover I was  _ bisessuale _ when I had been very sure for some time I was not,” Rossi’s voice said.

“But you are,” Seaver said.

“I have never said you were wrong. I was just not prepared at the time to learn it.”

“Hush, you two,” Beth said as two soldiers started toward the cart.

“Pardon us, ladies,” one of them said as they neared, holding up a hand to stop their progress. “A dangerous criminal is on the loose and we have to check everything going to or from the docks. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Not at all,” Beth said, stepping around to grab a corner of the cart. “Are the streets safe with a criminal loose?” she asked, pulling the tarp back.

“We have a strong presence on the streets; it should be quite safe.”

The other soldier looked underneath the cart, the first peering inside. He bobbed his head in admiration.

“Beautiful paintings, madam. Whose are they?” he asked, looking at the array of large paintings.

“Miss, and they’re mine,” Beth said cheerfully. “Is that all?”

He nodded and she tucked the tarp back down. “Thank you, miss. Good day, ladies.”

He tipped his hat and Beth and Seaver continued on their way.

“Good plan,” Seaver said.

Beth smiled. “I don’t look it, but I’m very crafty.”

“I believe it,” Seaver said.

“So do I!” Rossi called from inside.

A few minutes later and the cart was on the ship, the captain borne into his cabin.

“Thank you,  _ signora _ ,” Rossi said to Beth as Seaver ran back into the city to get word to the rest of the crew that the captain was returned.

“He’ll be alright, won’t he?” Beth asked.

“Do not worry about our Captain Hotchner. He is tougher than he looks.”

Beth smiled. “I’m counting on it. If you ever need somewhere to hide, my house is always open.”

She offered her hand and when he took it, swept in first and kissed his instead, then she pulled away and flounced down the gangplank.

***

Hotch opened his eyes for the third time since returning to the ship, glad to find this time he wasn’t mid-surgery. That had been less than pleasant. He was also alone this time. Moving with care, he sat up, setting his feet on the floor. Only then did he see the large painting leaning against the bookshelf. A vase of sunflowers in a window overlooking the port and, sailing off into the horizon, a tiny black and red ship. He didn’t need to see the artist’s signature to know where it had come from.

Smiling to himself, he stood and picked up his long, black coat that had been carefully draped over his chair and stiffly slid into it. It was harder than he remembered, but then he hadn’t had a gunshot wound last time he’d put the coat on. Then he picked his tricorn up off the desk, noting the orange hibiscus flower that someone–Garcia, no doubt–had added to it. He fingered the petals, then set hat and flower on his head and moved toward the door, taking his time, gathering his strength for when he opened it.

And then he did, pushing it open and stepping strongly out onto his deck. He didn’t know who spotted him first, only that someone shouted and soon the whole ship was ringing with cheers and clapping. Another smile–so many in such a short time–lit his face and then Garcia was hugging him tightly, too tightly.

“ _ Capitán! _ ” she exclaimed and he missed everything else in the rapid Spanish that followed.

“Penelope. Penelope, gentle, please,” he said.

She released him with gasp. “ _ Lo siento, Capitán! _ ” she cried, tapping his shoulders lightly and still chattering in Spanish too fast for him to follow.

He nodded, then held up his hand, silencing both Garcia and the clapping and cheering. “Alright,” he called to the crew. “I’m alive; I’m well. Now attend the ship. We still have work to do.”

A last cheer resounded and the crew returned to their jobs as Hotch climbed the stairs to the helm. Reid, his right arm in a sling, stepped aside, offering it to him, but Hotch shook his head, letting Reid keep control. A moment later and Rossi sidled up beside him.

“Good to have you back, Captain,” Rossi said.

“Good to be back,” Hotch said.

Rossi held out a ball of lead. “Signor Morgan dug this out of your chest. And what do you have to say for yourself?”

“At least one less serial murderer can no longer hurt people.”

“Mm, true. True. And good work that. Well done indeed.”

Hotch glanced at his quartermaster suspiciously. “What?”

“Nothing,” Rossi said. “Signora Clemmons though. She seemed very…nice.”

Hotch raised his eyebrows, but Rossi only shrugged and watched the movement on the ship. The captain didn’t disagree, but neither did he agree. If he ever met Beth again, she would have to know where his heart and life belonged, back home in England with his family. Where someday he’d return.

In another life, though...well, that would have been another life.


End file.
